


Full Throttle

by Pennyplainknits



Series: Shameless Inception Car Porn [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:45:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennyplainknits/pseuds/Pennyplainknits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Eames and a DB9</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Throttle

The DB 9 makes an awesome low growling sound and it hugs the ground like Arthur's pants hug his ass. Arthur has brown leather driving gloves and a matching jacket, slim fitting and nipped at the waist. It's a golden early autmumn day in England, and he puts the top down and throws the car round twisty turny corners, Eames at his side.

He floors the accelerator and shifts it up into fifth, and the vibrations hum through the car. Eames slouches lower in the leather seat and looks at Arthur, at the fierce joy he has in the speed and the handling of this beautiful machine. He's fucking perfect like this, wild and excited and utterly in control.

The roads are empty save for them, and as Arthur throws the car into another corner Eames sneaks his and onto Arthur's thigh and grazes his fingers up the inseam of his pants.

"Not while I'm driving," Arthur says, but he shows his dimples.

Eames leans over and tugs at his earlobe with his teeth.

"So pull over then."

Arthur quirks an eyebrow, but he slams on the breaks as they approach a layby, a half-moon shape in the country lane made to let cars pass by. The DB 9 has barely come to a stop before Eames has his seatbelt unbuckled. He wants to cover Arthur with his body and lick and kiss and suck until Arthur is growling sweet as the car, but there's not the room. They're neither of them small, and though Arthur is lithe and flexible, perfectly engineered as the car they're sitting in, not even he can make fucking in the front seat of an Aston Martin work.

So Eames just kisses him, and Arthur holds on, bites at his mouth and sucks at his tongue, those clever hands in their leather gloves pawing at him. The over-ripe autumn sun warms them, the air full of the scent of new mown hay and the buzz of insects. Anyone could come along this road, anyone could see them, rubbing up against each other like over-eager teenagers, but Eames doesn't care. Not when Arthur is gasping out his name in little broken pants, not when his hand is rubbing and kneading him through his trousers, not when Arthur's lips are against him, rough-sweet and urgent.

Eames tries and fails three times to get Arthur's trousers, tight at the best of times, undone, and in the end gives up and follow's Arthur's example, rubbing his cock through the fine rool fabric, pushing Arthur back into the leather of the seat and holding him down as he starts to buck up into his hand. Eames ducks down to kiss the hollow of Arthur's throat, sucks a red mark into it as he smells Arthur, clean sweat and leather and petrol, heady, unmistakeable, his.

The thrum of an aeroplane overhead drowns out Arthur's cry as he comes, and Eames finds himself being pushed back into the passenger seat, Arthur leaning awkwardly over the gear stick as he finally finally unzips Eames's trousers and gets his hand, still in the driving glove, around his dick. It only takes a couple of strokes and Eames is coming too, Arthur pulling away just at the last second so he doesn't get come on the buttery leather.

Eames leans back in the seat and pants, catching his breath. The sky is impossibly blue and he can see the faint shape of a kestral high above.

"The hotel is 15 minutes away," Arthur said, "You couldn't have waited?"

"You underestimate how hot you are driving this car darling," Eames says honestly. He reachs into the glove box for a packet of tissues. "And besides," he says, handing them to Arthur, "where would be the fun in that?"


End file.
